Razor Flake was examining his cutie mark, when Flywheel was struck by inspiration. He could help.
"I can fix this. Stand still."
Razor Flake was caught off guard. He numbly obeyed. Then Flywheel's horn glowed. Not it's typical blue, but a deep cobalt. The brass, cogs, and other various materials suddenly rose, surrounded by the same aura. Then, they flew together. As the gold and gray blur intensified, it moved to Razor. Then, it surrounded him.
It hurt a lot, but pain was comfortable to the null void that is hypothermia. He realized where the pain emanated from soon, though. Then saw the colt had gained a lattice work of gears for a cutie mark. What was the tan colt doing?
"There!"
Razor Flake reflexively commanded his wings to raise him for a better look. And he flew. He did the thing which he had just thought that he had lost the ability to do. He could fly. The cripple could fly.
Adjusting to wings was, quite frankly, nearly nonexistent. The mechanically gifted colt was truly a master of magic, though maybe not refined. The wings could look better, and he would need to change them over time, but he could fly. He wondered if he could still fly at the academy.